One of us (is not like the other)
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: Best friends for years, Killian and Emma, are leaving for college soon. But Emma wants to have sex before they do - better with a good friend than some stranger she doesn't care about, right? Or maybe, that will just complicate things even more...
1. Chapter 1

**Unbeta'd - the few typos are my own!**

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

For the briefest second, she hesitated, before squeezing his hand tighter.

"_Yes,_" she whispered, running her other hand over the space between them in the bed. "I'm eighteen. I'm ready."

"But-" he began. Before dropping his eyes (because she could tell when he was lying, could read him like a book), "We don't love each other."

(_Lies_, his heart said. You've loved her for years.)

She reached out, tangling her fingers in the hem of his grey t-shirt, fiddling distractedly with the cotton as she dipped her own head a little. "I know Killian," she admitted in a breathy sigh, "But I want my first time to be with someone I care about - who cares about me. And we're best friends, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling spikes of warmth in his belly when her fingertips glanced off the skin of his stomach. "But what if you meet some one, maybe in college, and you regret it-"

"I wont regret it," she promised. "It's not like you and Milah. It's us."

His heart lurched at the mention of his ex. The girl who he had tried to lose himself in a year ago, when he had finally given up on Emma Swan ever reciprocating his feelings. The girl who had made him think she cared, then used him and thrown him aside when a better offer came her way.

"And maybe it's better that there are no romantic feelings?" she suggested, her palm now flat on his stomach as she inched a little closer, he could feel himself stirring to life inside his boxer briefs. "Less complicated."

"I guess," he sighed, his forehead scrunching together, his brain and heart at war with each other.

_This is what you've wanted for so long!_

_(But I didn't want it this way)._

"If you're sure." he asked again and she laughed, just a little.

"Killian, I've said yes a thousand times. Geez, I'm offering myself to you on a plate. Way to make a girl feel wanted-"

And he knew she was teasing him, like she always did, but he couldn't help the flush that burned his cheeks.

_If only she knew._

Releasing his hand, she reached up and brushed her thumb over his cheek, "Look, my parents are away, we might not get the chance again before the summer is over-"

"Okay," he smiled, swallowing hard, suddenly appreciating the sheerness of the tank top she was wearing and the hint of bra that peeked over the top. "So how should we-?"

Christ, he felt like a fool. Laying there, stock still, unsure what move to make. It wasn't like he hadn't been in similar situations with other girls. But this was Emma.

Her lashes were fluttering. Was she nervous too? She licked her lips.

"Maybe if we kiss first?" she suggested, a little bashfully.

She made the move. Edging her head forward, she had to tilt her chin a little to reach his lips. Both their heads were resting on the pillows where they lay atop her bed. The angle was a little awkward to begin with until their lips met-

"Mmmm," he moaned softly as her mouth pressed against his. Her hand grasped his waist, tugging him closer while her other fingers began to slip into the hair at the base of his skull. Her tongue scraped against his, dipping into his mouth with a urgency that took him by surprise.

_Emma Swan was kissing him._

His mind was struggling to keep pace with what was happening. Thankfully, his body was able to make up the difference.

Somehow he found himself leaning closer, gently rolling her backwards until he was above her, nudging apart her knees so her could settle between her legs. Legging out a gentle, 'umph' when their hips made contact and he could just feel her heat.

Her hands were now on his back, under his shirt, tugging it higher until they had to part lips as he pulled it over his head to one side and tossed it aside. Their eyes met shyly. Both panting a little, both with a coy smile on their face.

"Hi," he whispered, feeling dumb the instant he said it.

"Hey," she echoed, looking as coy as he felt.

Hovering above her, resting on his forearms, he was dumbstruck for a moment.

With her pink cheeks and messed up hair she was more gorgeous than ever.

_Fuck, _he thought.

But then her legs were wrapping around his, her hips rolling, turning them over until she was sat above him, pressing against his now hard cock. "Shit," he whispered shakily.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yeah," he nodded, unable to form more than one word at a time.

So they just watched each other for a moment (he was pretty sure she was pressing herself down on him, just a little.) Her fingers toyed with the hem of her tank top, almost like she was gathering up the courage.

He swallowed hard, "If you've changed your mind-"

"Shhh," she hushed, shaking her head, peeling the material from her skin, agonisingly slowly, revealing inch after inch of tanned skin. Until, just in her bra and shorts she started to reach down to kiss him again, but he lunged up and met her half way, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing her for all he was worth.

Tugging down her bra straps, the kiss became desperate, too much teeth and tongue, but she didn't seem to care. Her fingernails were digging into his shoulders and he welcomed the pain - it meant this was real, it was happening (if only for one night, if only the once).

He found the clasp of her bra just as she started to grind her hips against his in tight little circles that had him gasping, "Fuck, Emma…" into her ear as he took a quick breath.

Quickly she released him and let her bra fall down. He cupped her breasts, just the right size for his hands, gently squeezing her nipples, feeling their weight, wondering at just how perfect she was.

"Fuck you're gorgeous," he muttered, pulling a nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue as she breathily whispered back.

"Thanks, you're not so bad yourself, Jones."

Damn, he loved it when she called him Jones.

Suddenly confident, his hands reached for her ass as he continued his ministrations with his tongue, squeezing it tightly, letting each sensation of touching her body linger in his mind. Savouring the experience to relive another day.

He pressed her back into the comforter behind her, dragging his mouth over her body, his fingers trailing after, as she tossed her hands above her head and sighed heavily. Each touch of his mouth made her body start a little, flinches of her stomach, rises of her hips, until he reached the waist band of her shorts and he paused, quickly looking up her body for permission.

She understood, wordlessly nodding as he sucked in a breath, digging his fingers inside the material, slowly pulling down shorts and underwear in one move.

Emma was naked. With him. Laid out like he'd dreamed of.

(But, fuck, this was better than any dream).

Clambering back to her, he smoothed his hand over her hips, thumbing the prominent bones, dropping little courage, working up a little courage, until he bashfully asked, "Can I…?"

His eyes dropped. He couldn't say it.

And damn, if she didn't seem as nervous when he looked back at her face. "Um, yeah, I mean, only if you want to-"

"-I do-"

"I mean, Neal and I-"

She stopped herself, biting her lip.

Of course she'd done this with Neal. The asshole who'd devastated her when he upped and left town without so much as a goodbye. Fuck Neal.

"Shit, sorry. I need to stop taking about exes."

He bit back a sharp response and instead said, "Tonight's just about you, Emma."

And so what if it was cheesy as hell? It was true and he planned to be as good to her as he could.

Not wanting to talk more, not wanting nerves to sneak in and steal away the moment, he began pressing further kisses down her hips and thighs, tracing circles with his fingers, enjoying the way she wriggled underneath him and how her breath came short. Gently, he parted her legs, settling between her hips, parting her folds with his fingers as he drew his tongue along her heat.

"Fuck," she whispered, her legs wrapping higher against his body, his jeans feeling uncomfortably tight with her body so close and her scent and taste overwhelming him.

Swirling his tongue against her, he sank a finger inside, working it deeper until he was enveloped in her heat. It was clear how ready she was, how wet she felt, the steady rocking of her hips against his mouth, urging him quicker, harder-

He slipped in another finger, scissoring them, loosening her muscles, preparing her - he didn't want it to hurt. He wanted her to enjoy it. Enjoy him.

"Oh my god," she cried softly, raising her knees until the heels of her feel were digging into his waist and her body was arching off the bed. Then she suddenly froze and lifted herself up on palms. "I'm ready."

Pausing, he licked his lips. "Now?"

She nodded, reaching down to run a hand through his hair, her eyes dark with want (and what he fucking hoped was lust).

Dumbstruck for a moment he shuffled off the bed and began to undo his jeans, letting them fall to the floor-

"In my nightstand," she whispered, crawling under the covers, drawing them up to her chin, watching him as he fumbled with his boxer briefs, giggling a little when he almost fell over until their eyes met and the laughter died.

He found the box of condoms, took one and climbed into the bed beside her.

"So-"

"If you ask if I'm sure again, I'm going to sock you one Jones."

"I wouldn't dare," he replied, suddenly feeling the seriousness of what he was - they were - about to do.

Ripping plastic and quick breaths were the only sound. He smoothed the condom over his erection, giving himself a mental pep talk - ordering his body to make this last more than a minute. "How do you-"

"Go on top."

And there he was, rolling on top of her, sighing as her legs parted, resting up his forearms as she reached down and lined him up with her entrance.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"Mmmhmmm."

One small push and he paused watching her face, checking for signs of pain, before continuing. Biting back a moan as he sank into her tight, wet, delicious heat.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she smiled.

"No pain?"

She shook her head. "Just feels… a little, strange."

"I'll take care of that," he promised, kissing her forehead before beginning to withdraw and pivot his hips in a slow, measured rhythm.

"That's good," she murmured after a minute or so, shuffling down a little in the bed and hooking her feet together around his ass, "I can feel you so deep…"

And he was fighting the urge to just give into his desires and drive into her harder, faster. They seemed to fit perfectly together, her muscles flexing around him as he lifted her hips to his, meeting his thrusts.

Her hands flattened against his chest as he leaned down to kiss her, unable to resist tasting her lips again.

(Scared it would be his last chance).

"You can go faster-" she whispered in his ear.

So he picked up the pace, still holding back a little, trying to show some restraint, letting one hand wander over her breasts and stomach, memorising its feel, stemming the tide of desire inside until the dam broke. And he was falling, panting, pulsing inside her, shaking and jittering as he muttered curses mixed with her name.

Breathing heavy, he sank down, being careful not to crush her.

"I'm sorry-" he began.

"Don't be," she insisted, placing a hand on his forearm and looking up into his eyes. "I - I liked it. A lot-"

"But you didn't, you know…"

(Oh why was he so stupidly shy, now of all times?)

"I didn't expect to," she laughed lightly. Then her face became serious, "I don't regret it."

His anxiety faded as the adrenaline sank from his veins and he settled into simple tired happiness.

There was an awkward moment of separating and dealing with the condom where meeting each other's eye seemed impossible. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his jeans, scrunching his brow as she realised it was all over. "I guess I need to go, you know, it's late."

"You could stay?" she offered, "I mean, if you want to. There's the guest room, and-"

"Okay," he replied, before she could finish.

/

She pulled on a faded pink nightshirt and he redressed in his boxer briefs and t-shirt. They lay on her bed awhile, watching a movie, talking about anything but what had just happened. Until they fell asleep, his arm wrapped around her. No need for a spare bed.

/

It was still dark, when he work. She was on her side, brushing his cheek with her hand, watching him sleep.

Blurry eyed, he smiled, "Hey."

"Can't sleep," she told him, looking at him so intensely it blew away his tiredness.

Then somehow they were kissing again. And this time, it was something more. Less shyness, less fear of the new, more certainly and longing.

Their clothes were gone within minutes and as he sank into her the second time, he felt even more sure that this is what heaven was.

/

He had to leave early for soccer practise, but her parent's wouldn't be back till after lunch. So after a shy goodbye, she lay in bed, her sheets smelling like his cologne, rumpled and used, a little like she was feeling now. Her mind reran each moment of the night before, how he'd touched her, how he'd felt inside her, how her heart had pounded when she came, looking into his eyes earlier that morning.

It had been her idea. Her reasons had been real, but she'd be lying if she said she'd never thought about him in that way. And now she knew that the reality far surpassed any fantasy.

But they were best friends. It was a one (okay, two) time deal.

_Stop thinking about him!_ she ordered her brain.

(Failing miserably).

_**A/N... So, technically a one shot (especially cos I really shouldn't take on another fic...) but is is a fun story. Do you want more?**_


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping back into a hometown party after two years away at college had a way of bringing you back to Earth with a crash.

Same people, same houses, same beer - just like high school. Only not, because now the people who you were trying to party with were almost strangers - experimental haircuts and fashion choices notwithstanding. It made Killian's decision to spend most of the last two summers working up on the lake seem all the more the correct choice. Better to be outdoors, getting some sun and earning a few dollars than trying to be something he stopped being the day he'd left for college.

This weekend was an exception. It was David Nolan's birthday party and after a persuasive call from his girlfriend, Mary Margaret, Killian been talked into driving down for a few days. "How many times will he turn 21?" she'd said.

Begrudgingly, he'd agreed, making a mental note to remind Mary Margaret of her words when it was his birthday next year.

So here he was, Solo cup filled from the lukewarm keg, nodding hellos to the few people he easily recognized, working his way through the Nolan's house, wondering how David had talked his parents into making themselves scarce for the night.

"Killian?"

He'd know that voice anywhere; stopping mid-step, he pivoted to his left, from where it had come.

"Emma?"

For half a second, he stared, his jaw dropped open before he caught himself and let out a deep breath. "Wow, Swan. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

She laughed lightly, rolling her eyes as she replied, "Always the charmer, eh Jones?"

(And his gut did that weird shifting thing that it always did when she called him that.)

There was an awkward moment when he didn't know what to say. College and time had sent them drifting apart, in fact, since Christmas there had not been so much as a phone call between the two. He wasn't sure if either of them was to blame, but he knew, right now, that he had missed her more than he realized.

"Come here, you idiot," she finally said, pulling him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck (she smelled like sweet floral perfume). She had to reach up on her toes, her head lying against his shoulder as for a second he held her tight. He didn't want to let go.

(But he did.)

"I was just about to get a drink," she said, with a breezy smile and bright eyes. He looked at his own half cup of beer and winked, tipping the beverage down his throat in a couple of seconds.

"Well isn't that a coincidence?" he quipped, holding up the now empty cup, till she took a hold of his arm and started dragging him to the kitchen.

"Come on, Jones, we have a lot of catching up to do."

_"That we do,"_ he said to himself as he followed her.

_/_

"Criminology, really?"

Emma shrugged and smiled into her beer, still not sure whether the temperature rise she was experiencing was from the beer or the company. "I took few classes last year and what can I say - it fascinates me. So I went to my advisor and changed my major."

Killian sipped on his beer and nodded.

_Holy crap_, he looked good. She hadn't seen him, in the flesh, so to speak since last summer having spent the last Christmas vacation with her (now ex) boyfriend's family. The lean Killian she used to know had grown broader and more toned, all topped off with a sexy summer tan that she had to admit looked damn good on him.

(And no, she wasn't thinking about tan lines. Nu-uh).

"What about you? Still dreaming of a life playing out on the ocean?" she teased.

"Ah, Swan, you always knew me too well. But yes. Still not exactly sure how it's going to pan out, but marine engineering is still holding my interest after two years, so I'd say that's a good thing?"

"Anything that can hold your interest for more than a week or two amazes me."

Quick as a flash, he snapped back, "Well you always did."

And, damn, if that didn't make her stomach flip.

(Was he flirting with her? No, that was ridiculous.)

He poured them both another beer; luckily they had found a spot in the kitchen near the keg but far enough away from the doorway to the dining room where the DJ had taken up residence. She was just taking back her cup when a rush of people barged past them to the makeshift bar on the other side of the room, forcing them both into a tight spot between the kitchen units.

"Getting a little wild here. Nolan's loosening up in his old age, he was never much for partying."

"That's what the college years are for," Killian smiled, giving her a sly wink.

"So I take it from that statement that you have been sowing your wild oats?"

"Something like that," he smirked, a little too knowingly for her liking. "And you?"

(By now they were less than six inches apart, her back pressed up against the wall, her skin cold against the plasterwork, but warm and flushed where he was facing her).

"Not quite. Too busy with Walsh, mostly."

At the mention of her ex, Killian's face hardened. "Yeah, Walsh. How are things with that?"

She shrugged a shoulder and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, trying to ignore the little tug on her heart. "It's over. He's ancient history."

He dipped his head, as if trying to create a more private space for the two of them, which was ridiculous considering they were in the middle of a party. (But she liked it all the same.) "What happened? When we spoke before Christmas I got the impression things were serious."

Emma sucked in a breath and rocked a little on her toes, "Me too. But I learned that some people are awfully good liars."

Tears spiked. She pushed them away and tried to smile.

"I'm sorry, Em," he said quietly.

"It's fine," she insisted, "Like I said, lesson learned."

"This is going to sound so corny-" he began. She flashed him a glance, wondering if he was going to truly share his thoughts with her- "But you deserve better."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "Shit, that _was _corny."

"What can I say, you bring it out in me."

(_Was_ he flirting? Really?) She set her beer aside.

"But seriously, keep your chin up. I bet there are a million guys who'd kill to be with you."

"You think?" she asked lightly.

"I know," he replied, catching her eye and letting his glance linger for just that bit too long, that bit too hard.

The air felt thick. Taking a breath was somehow a little more difficult that a few moments earlier.

"You have to say that, you're my friend."

"You still consider me a friend then?"

Emma turned away for a moment, reaching for a half full bottle of tequila and a stack of plastic shot glasses. She pulled them apart and handed him one. "Of course. You know what they say about good friends, you can go years without seeing each other and you pick up right back where you left off."

"I like the sound of that," he smiled, watching intently as she poured a generous measure of the alcohol.

Settling her own drink, she lifted up her shot glass. "A toast, to friends."

Their eyes met and she watched his lips form another smile.

"To friends," he repeated, knocking back the tequila quickly and then licking his lips.

"Another?" she suggested, holding up the bottle.

And for a second, she could have sworn he was checking her out. But maybe that was the liquor.

"Sure," he nodded.

_/_

The couch was in a dark corner of the living room, pushed back against a wall to create a makeshift dance floor. The lights had been dimmed. A few people were smoking (a little something stronger than tobacco). All in all, the environment was murky and dark and perfect for escaping from the busier state of the rest of the house.

Emma had grabbed the bottle of tequila after the forth shot, insisting her feet were hurting and dragging him to the couch where she flopped down, beckoning him to join her.

(Like he could resist. Especially when her jean shorts rose up just that bit more.)

She was giggling by now. Pouring another shot each, spilling a little on her leg (mainly because she was swinging them over his lap as she poured).

"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!" she laughed, digging the bottle into the space where couch and cushion met beside her.

"Hey," Killian sighed as she tipped her glass against his, "I think that's more like tequila eight."

Emma shrugged, eyeing him over the glass as she knocked back the clear liquid before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He didn't know what to think.

Was she drunk?

(Was she flirting?)

Was she flirting_ because _she was drunk?

She went to grab the bottle again and he placed his hand on hers to stop her, "Hey, how about we take a break? Don't wanna pass out here on the couch, right? Miss all the action?"

Emma ran her tongue along her bottom lip, giving Killian a look that made his cock twitch and his stomach muscles clench. "No, that would be awful," she whispered, pulling her fingers away from the bottle's neck and laying her hand on his knee, just below where her legs where lain over his.

"So, Jones, I've given you the 411 on my dating disasters this year. What about you? Left any broken hearts down in Massachusetts?"

"I'm not much the one for dating, Swan."

"You don't have to exactly _date _to be getting out there, Jones."

He smirked and raised an eyebrow, trying desperately not to read too much into her (flirty) banter, reminding himself that Emma had been a lightweight in high school, getting hopelessly drunk on two cans of light beer.

"I'm not a monk," he finally admitted, catching her crooked smile at his confession and telling himself he had imagined her moving that little bit closer.

"Glad to hear it."

What was that supposed to mean?

His palms were sweating and his heart racing a little from the tequila (and her). "Hey, how about another beer?" he blurted out, needing, right that moment, to be anywhere but next to her.

"Sure," she nodded, "Beer sounds _great_."

Shit, the way she rolled that word around her tongue sent shivers straight to his groin and he stood up instantly, swinging her legs aside (and, damn, they felt good under his hands).

The room swayed a little as he made his way to the kitchen. A few people he recognized lifted their hands in greeting; there was a handshake from Jefferson Cole, his old soccer buddy, and even a hug from Belle French (who he'd not had single conversation with in school, yet was acting right then as if they had been best buds).

Finally, he reached the sanctuary of the kitchen. The patio doors to the garden had been opened and a blissfully cool breeze passed over him as he filled up two cups of beer.

He couldn't work it out. Emma had never been like this with him before. Sarcastic? Yes. Playful? Yes. But never, ever flirtatious.

(Even on that July day when she'd suggested that he took her virginity. Even then, she had not been able to make eye contact with him. Had played with the hem of her white, open knit sweater. The one that made her skin look the color of honey-)

"What's taking so long?"

He started, turning around mid-pour, spilling a generous measure of beer on his jeans. "Oh, shit, sorry."

Watching as the faded denim became saturated with the alcohol, he lost his train of thought, looking up and till he caught her eye and-

"We'd better get you cleaned up," she said softly. "Don't want that to stain."

"Yeah," he agreed, almost breathless, trying to judge the look in her eye. The one he'd seen before on different faces, that had usually led to lipstick smears on his face, popped buttons and frantic hands before his roommate came home.

(Shit, did beer even leave a stain?)

(Not that he cared).

/

What the fuck was she doing?

Leading Killian up the staircase to the little bathroom on the third floor (Why? because it would be quieter up there. Not for privacy. No sir.)

The door was a little stiff - she knew David was the only one who used the third floor when he was home for college - so she had to shove a little with her shoulder to open it. Silently, she stepped in, not looking to see if he was following. But she knew he was.

What the FUCK was she doing?

She walked over to the sink, turning on the dual faucet, testing the temperature on her hand until it reached a pleasant warmness. There was a blue washcloth on the windowsill and she grabbed it, soaking it with the water then wringing it out.

(They SO could have done this in the kitchen-)

She spun around to face him and - shit - he was looking at her like he was a starving man and she was a three course meal-

"So, how should we do this?"

And that was when the memory hit her. Almost two years ago - same damn question, very different circumstances.

Her eyes were now fixed firmly on his jeans (unsuccessfully) trying not to look at his crotch. All the more difficult considering she knew just what he was packing.

A shiver ran down her spine.

This was Killian. Her _friend._ (Her very handsome, sweet, _hot_, funny friend).

He shrugged. Seeming as lost for words as she was. Eyes darting around the small room, he took a few steps over to the tub and sat on the edge, stretching out the beer affected leg.

Gingerly, she stepped a little closer and sank down on her haunches, damp towel in hands, taking a quick breath before she pressed it against the denim.

He groaned, very softly, but she heard it. With little strokes she started to work against the beer stain that ran down his left leg from knee to hip, unable to avoid feeling his muscles beneath her hand.

(_Have you been working out?_ she almost asked, but that would have been cheesy as fuck.)

Little soft presses, methodically, slowly-

A little too hot. A little too much. A little too weird-

"Done," she smiled, standing up - him following her -holding the towel aloft between them, feeling that inexplicable pull that told her to kiss him. To do it hard and fast and to not think about it-

Because he was Killian and she trusted him (and he was hot and they were both single-)

Her brain piped back, _don't you dare - this is Killian, your friend, don't fuck this up, don't-_

But it turns out the decision was taken out of her hands. Because he kissed _her_.

(She didn't protest.)

/

It was way too much. Her on her knees in front of him (how many times had he pictured that?), pressing that warm towel against his thigh, with way too much precision and attention that was required for such a simple stain.

And it was then that the tipping point came. In the battle between alcohol and free will, he knew it was him who was making the decision - not the beer and not the tequila.

So when she was finally stood, it was only a matter of time - inevitable, really - that he would kiss her.

So he did.

She didn't flinch, or pull away. Instead he heard the towel drop to the floor as her hands wrapped around his neck, her hips pressing him back against the door, her lips and tongue working quickly against his to a point where he didn't know where his mouth ended and hers began.

His hands cupped her ass, fingers sliding under the torn hem of her shorts, pulling her tighter against him, trying to lose himself, trying, for a second, to not think about what the hell was happening-

"Stop-" he panted, lucidity forming for a moment, "What the fuck are we doing?"

Emma's chest was heaving to catch a breath (and no, he wasn't looking at the hint of cleavage her shirt gave).

"I don't know," she admitted, sucking in deep, low breaths.

Fuck.

(He knew why.)

Her eyes were wide, searching his face, her hands still loose around his neck-

"Do you ever think about it - I mean, about that time?"

(Yes, he wanted to scream. _All the fucking time_).

"Uhuh," he mumbled clenching his jaw, resisting the urge to squeeze her ass. "Sometimes."

_Liar. You think about it every damn day, you pussy._

"So do I," she whispered leaning a little closer, "It was- fun."

"A one-time thing," he quipped, pressing his back against the door, letting his hands fall from her body to lie by his sides.

"Does it have to be?" she quickly retorted.

"What do you mean?"

(He knew exactly what she meant.)

"I'm single. You're single…"

So this was the point where a rational guy would have stepped away. Her pupils were a little dilated, but her speech was clear and she was standing steady, clearly her alcohol tolerance had gone up.

"No strings…" she continued.

No strings, he thought, other than the fact he was still obsessing over her. Other than the fact he still thought of her often and that goddamn night when the stars aligned and for a few hours was able to pretend that something more was happening between them than a friend helping out a friend.

"Okay," he replied.

No strings. _No strings. _His mind repeated over and over.

No strings.

_/_

_Okay._

_O-kay._

She'd really thought he would say no. Or at least, try and brush the whole thing off-

But that didn't happen.

A sudden shyness came over her.

They were looking - no, freaking _staring_ - at each other. Like they were each daring the other to make a move. A perverse game of cat and mouse - that she desperately wanted to end.

Because as much as she'd moved on - college and life and other guys- she'd never forgotten Killian. He was always there. Her best friend. Her first.

The guy who had made that time so safe, so easy. So nice.

(And good. She knew enough now to know that her first time had been much more satisfying than most girls).

Her heart pounded against her chest. She hadn't been with anyone since him - _Walsh_.

The goddamn jerk. The shit who she had trusted. The guy who she thought might be the one - the sweetheart who would fix all her problems, make her feel good.

_Yeah, _she knew that was dumb now. People don't fix each other.

The moment Killian surged forward, she was just on the cusp of giving up - running away.

His hands hit her waist first - just before his lips found her mouth. He was pushing her backwards, lifting her up onto edge of the edge of the sink as if she weighed nothing-

(_Muscles_… her brain sighed).

And, damn, _was he _kissing her. Irreverently, passionately - his hands under her shirt as her legs wrapped around him and she could feel the hard outline of his dick and-

No, there was nothing more to this. Just sex. Just fun. Just a moment between two old friends that could be brushed aside and-

(Yeah, right, her subconscious laughed-)

But his hands felt warm under her shirt, lifting up the wire of her bra, his fingers teasing her nipples as she rubbed herself against his erection and tried to ignore just how _natural _this seemed. Told herself this was because they were friends and-

Shit. His tongue was on her neck and his fingers undoing the buttons of her shorts and she was damn close to helping him, only her faint restraint holding her back.

(Just a little.)

He popped the metal button and zipper, slipping them down, her legs shaking as the denim slid against her thighs and was the room spinning? Every brush of his hands against her legs had made her want him more.

And then she needed to do something. It was like - if she didn't, she would implode. Like if she didn't take control everything would just go crazy-

So she shoved him back a little and fell to her knees. No pausing at his confused protest, pulling open the buttons of his fly, tugging out his cock, enjoying its warmth and weight and its velvety softness. Trying to say to herself that this meant nothing. That it was just 'a thing.'

Pulling him into her mouth, she wrapped her lips and hand around his length, her heart thrilling at the way he groaned and bucked his hips forward, sucking enough to make his hands slip into her hair and bunch up the golden strands.

(And damn that made her feel strong and desired and powerful -)

Her tongue lapped against him, exploring his reactions. Slipping and sliding and taking him deeper into her throat until she could feel his hands digging into tighter her hair and she knew she had him on the edge-

Now, she thought. Now.

Standing, her shorts were pushed down with her panties, the condom in her back pocket easily found-

(She'd knew she needed this - sex. But she hand't expected it to be him-)

She was bare below the waist. He quickly joined her. No discussion. That would break the spell. All she needed tonight was him.

He took the condom from her fingers. She hitched up her ass on the basin, his hands went around her waist, their eyes locked -

Fuck. Casual shags were not supposed to feel like this.

/

He didn't pause, or think. It was all instinct. He'd rolled back two years in maturity in the past few minutes and once again she was it - his whole life, the girl he was more obsessed with than any woman he would ever be with again.

And she wanted him. Not like last time. Tonight there was no deeper reason for this encounter, no motivation other than want.

(But he hoped, maybe, somewhere, there was more).

He took her against the sink. Hard. Fast. Quick. Peppered with dirty words that were neutral enough that she didn't see their underlying meaning-

[I love you-]

She'd panted into his thrusts, rocking her hips, _killing him, _fucking up any chance of ever forgetting her-

(Not that that had came even close to happening in the past two years.)

Shit.

/

Soft and pliable and _done._

Afterwards, she'd leaned against his chest and let him kiss her. Legs shaking, breath shuddering. It had been quick and needy and _hot_. He'd held her so tight as he bucked up into her, she was sure of the bruises her skin would wear tomorrow. She felt the spot on her neck that he had dug his teeth into when he came. Another reminder. Another souvenir.

/

Clothes were found, eyes avoided - they didn't talk for a moment. He'd barely taken a breath since he'd came, nipping at her skin biting back the words-

[I love you]

Besides, what was there to say? Besides a smile and a look?

/

Did she look like she's just been fucked in the bathroom? Thank god her shirt had a collar, thank god she'd found a brush to run through her hair. But if anything was going to give her away she knew it was the pink colour of her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes that screamed 'orgasm'.

He followed her down the stairs-

('Maybe we should head back down…'

'Yeah.')

Was his hand on her back?

Reaching the second floor landing, she turned back to him-

"Jones! Emma! Been looking for you!"

"David!" she beamed, smiling at her friend from where he stood, beer in hand, chatting with a few others outside the (other) bathroom. "Happy birthday!"

God she hoped she didn't smell like sex.

/

He'd almost said something. Almost stopped her on the stairs. But then David was there and it was all hugs and greetings and calling out for Mary Margaret until the four of them were ensconced back in the kitchen, knocking back beers, shooting the breeze about old times.

They'd looked at each other more than once, passing knowing glances (and the occasional smile).

But that was it. The urge to take her aside faded. It was, he conceded, just a crazy moment. The kind of thing you did in your twenties when beer and parties were involved.

/

She was secretly hoping he would say something. Make some move, just goddamn talk to her.

But he didn't. So that meant it was just a thing for him - some fun, a passing moment.

And that's okay, she told herself as she let the beer carry her away. That was just fine.


	3. Author's Note

So, a 'lovely' group on here have decided to target this story and get it deleted. Hmm.

It's also being simultaneously uploaded onto the site 'Archive of our own' (which is a much better site for reading anyway in my opinion).

So if you are enjoying this, I'd suggest you bookmark me over there (and try and find other authors you follow as the OUAT fandom is being targeted at the minute. Nice).

Here's the address for all my work there: archive of our own dot org /users/Youdrivemenutsmiller/works

Here's the address for this particular story: archive of our own dot org /works/3209687/chapters/6981842

Or just google youdrivemenutsmiller and the site name.

(You know the drill, take out brackets and spaces etc)

Lots of my older stuff is already there, but I'll be copying over the rest very soon.

_**I will not let people bully me. And yes, that is what you are doing.**_


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